Watercobra
by Solarfish
Summary: Because Black Lagoon is in fact, an Elco 80ft PT boat, and Rock's grandpa had stories...


Disclaimer: Consider this very, very disclaimed.

Black Lagoon caught my eye and that was it. I binge watched the first few episodes after spotting the PT boat and the guns but was... disappointed at the lack of utilisation of the boat itself. So wrote this in a day, and hopefully fills a niche. Made me feel better inside.

Seriously. Elco PT boats were, Armament-to-displacement wise, better than anything else afloat. Bar none. Not even battleships came anywhere close to the ratio of Pew-Pew per Tonne of Boat...

Oh, and they haven't given an explanation as to why the PT boat in BL is steel, because historically speaking they were exclusively made of wood, so I'll just say its extensive body armour. (Probably why they have no guns?)

Critique is welcome. All of it. Bring your worst. I dare ya.

hr

It started so innocently. At least... as innocent as a briefcase filled with some designer drug, some assault rifles and Revy can get. Just some simple Triad mission. Give them the briefcase, receive cash, go home. Easier than a quarterly statement.

Some trumped up Triad attitude, Revy taking no shit from anybody and a minor misunderstanding in local vernacular later, Rock had his nose buried in the deck of the Black Lagoon as they beat a hasty retreat with both the drug and the cash...

'It's Revy, what else do you expect?' But now the testosterone fuel gunjockeys where on their proverbial ass flinging lead.

Rock is sure that to 'well adjusted' people, the bark of Revy's grenade launcher shouldn't technically be comforting. But as bullets zing off the gin-clear waters and the roar of gunfire compete with boat engines, Rock thinks that 'well adjusted' can go fuck itself with a cactus.

Then Dutch kicks it up a notch and the Packard 1200hp screams in ecstasy. The Black Lagoon rears like a bucking horse and hydroplanes like its gone and developed hydrophobia. The two luxury boats, with pointed prows and fat beams try to match the warhorse... and fail miserably as they hit the Lagoon's wake and eat saltwater.

And amoungst all this, Rock holds his skinned nose and eyes one of the many bolt holes in the deck, Revy'esque dialogue going through his mind.

"What the fuck was that about? Buncha pussies start shootin' the moment I fuckin' sneeze..." Revy has commandeered the front fifty cal tub, one foot folded in, other sprawled out into clean air, showing the world her toned legs.

"Revy. Next time you think they are insulting you in another language, please allow me to translate... people don't take kindly to being called 'pussies' and 'shitbags' out of hand." But Rock is still staring at the inconspicuous series of holes in the deck, and some old and ancient memory stirs, brushing off mental cobwebs and dust alike to lodge itself right in the front of his lobe, flashing neon signs at the rest of his brain.

It was a strange memory. Of his grandfather. Old as time and blind as a bat sitting on a bench in their modest apartment regaling a tale of bullets and blood and the rising sun flag slumped from burnt and defeated camps as they cleaned up after the Mosquito boats... Of how they had more firepower than what their size allowed and made of simple wood.

It was insignificant at the time, but now as Rock then looked around the deck, those raises and bumps weren't just armour. Oh no. They were hard points. For guns. And Rock suddenly knew what he was spending his savings on.

-0-

Benny gave a lazy smile at finding his crewmate slumped over one of the spare laptops in the office Sunday morning. He'd come in expecting to just get his own, nab a few odds and ends, and dissappear into his own room for the day to tinker.

"Hey, Rock? You awake, bud?" Rock stirred and the keyboard left its claim on the poor soul, branding his cheeck from below the eye to the jaw and lips... Benny gave an amused snort and guided the man to the couch, the defining collar and tie crumpled beyond hope.

"Its bad for your back you know... trust me, I've got experience..." Rock gave a nod and aimed for the door. He was gone to his own apartment before Benny could wonder if it was a good idea to leave him so groggy.

But he had a new transceiver and distribution board, and the comms needed a good de-fuzzing. He got a look at Rocks last page and rose an eyebrow at the lineup of something like seven or eight large calibre guns... mounts and all. A man could wish for sure, but Benny wondered.

-0-

Dutch gave Rock a sceptical look. Or that's what Rock gleaned from the ever so slightly raised eyebrow and the lack of a definitive 'No'.

"Sooo, basically you wanna fuck with my boat." Rock cringed at the description but it was thr truth in essence.

"I'll be paying." Revy snorts. Derisive and unimpressed.

"With what cash, partner?" Rock is ready for this and simply points at Revy.

"Guns and ammo." Then at Benny, hair visible over a ham radio.

"Tech and gadgets." Then at Dutch.

"Booze, nights out and then Lagoon repairs." Rock finally points to himself, with a little flair.

"The occasional new shirt and tie." And it sounds so lame in comparison, Revy is impressed... in a weird fringe-science of logic kind of way.

"But what you gonna be doing to my boat!?" Dutch's muscles ripple and Rock has never been more afraid and determined at the same time.

"It's a surprise, Dutch. Promise it will be good." Benny looks slightly excited.

"She's armoured almost all over, and I keep her up to date on all the tech... dunno how you gonna shove more on there." Dutch seems to take the challenge and gives the go ahead.

Rock is on his phone and out the door before Revy can begin to interrogate him. She looks at the rest of Lagoon Company, both with similar expressions of wary expectation.

"This is so fucking messed."

-0-

Rock says he's finished by the end of that weekend, but begs them not to spoil it until they have a job.

And as if from the heavens, Balalaika gives them a list of names, the coordinates for an island just big enough for a small time base of operations and not much else, a hefty pay check and the promise of an easy job. They take it just to get to the docks.

No one said anything, but they all knew the curiosity was eating them something fierce. Maybe Revy waved a cutlass or two around, but no biggie.

-0-

They're all standing on the small pier at Roanapur and staring at the Black Lagoon bob in the water, silver job still sparkling in the deceptively clean sunshine.

Dutch finally breaks the silence.

"Rock... how... well, how did you get that in your hands, and how did you get that on my boat?" He sounds awed. Revy gives an appreciative whistle.

"Looks fucking brutal... 'ey Benny boy?" Benny just nods before adding his own thoughts.

"Looks like it'll snap the front of the boat off if it shoots..." Dutch gives a distressed noise and finally gets on board.

Revy leans over and prods Rock.

"I get to try out that bad mother fucker first, right?" Rock smiles like a parent watching over their kid on Christmas.

"Someone has to show me how to shoot the thing, right?" Revy give that predatory smile and cracks her fingers.

-0-

The mercenaries play difficult, denying such preposterous accusations, and flatly deny the request to come quietly. Who wants to go to prison when you have AKs and FALs, right?

Rock, smart and proper in his suit and tie can actually see the smile on Revy's face if he closes his eyes as the mercs skin their smoke wagons and wave them around in a decidedly threatening manner. Rock plays the suddenly apologetic and makes it halfway to the PT boat before some shit-for-brains tries the cowboy approach and makes him dance.

The cacophony of revolver shots and small arms fire is stilled by the sound of a slide being racked and a round chambering... a big round. Then Revy's manic voice sounds like the herald of the apocalypse:

"Come get some, you fucking cum-stains!"

The booming echo of the M4 37mm cannon is like a roiling, fluctuating call for souls. Spitting death at 120 rounds per minute, Revy grins like a kid at Christmas as alternating high explosive and incendiary rounds turn mercs, their friends and their cover into paste, powder or flaming wreckage with short, deadly bursts.

The unfortunate cases are a mix of all three.

The mercenaries' spattering of small arms fire sprayed over cover or around corners falls away as they underestimate the penetrative power of the deck mounted gun. Rock is by now next to her and ready to help reload the clip as Dutch pulls the Black Lagoon further out.

Revy is laughing obscenely and looking at the M4 like a microbiologist at the cure for cancer.

"Is there any other fittings like this?" And Rock is surprised that she didn't have some sort of inkling of the answer as he clips another explosive round in the looping belt that hangs over the entire setup.

"Yeah. There's a bigger one... but I couldn't afford it anyways. These rounds are surprisingly cheap, considering." Revy looks awestruck.

"A Bigger fucking gun?" She eyes the behemoth of a weapon in front of her.

"Do we need to remove this one then?" And Rock laughs.

"Nope. Think two guns like this in front, two fifty cal Brownings per tub, and then a big 40 mil on the back."

Rock basks in the glory of being able to say that and know what the Arabic he was speaking was about.

Revy's eyes grow misty. But clear as she racks the slide and she swings the gun towards the island. There's the whine of a motor and they watch a launch make its escape.

"Dutch!"

"Yeah, yeah, I see it. Benny! You got radar on them?" The engine growls and they swing around in pursuit.

Revy slides to the side and yanks Rock roughly behind the gun.

"Safeties off. Hold the fucker firm, hands here, trigger here. It kicks like a fucking ass, so short bursts." And Rock stands behind the M4 and can't help but think back to his grandpa.

"Time to bust some barges..."

"What-" And Revy is drowned out in the growling bark of the gun firing. The rounds miss, but not by much and the spray drenches the getaway.

They panic and try to weave but Rock gets it, gets the gun and how it works somewhere deep inside, and slides the gun over easily.

The gun barks again.

The boat gets turned into a raging fireball when the rounds catch the rear of the boat and tosses it like a child does a toy.

Revy is reverent, but un-holsters her cutlasses and barks at the radio.

"Dutch! Lets mop up... buncha pussies anyways. All we lost was ammo and some paint..."

And it's a euphoric sail back. They all sit in or around Dutch behind the throttle and eye the 37mm poking straight up, not in use.

"Rock... what in gods fucking name possessed you to go and... and summon that... fucking thing?" The jibe is messed with as Revy looks like she's on a high.

Rock gets flustered.

"It's... just a gift, I guess. I mean, I don't really do the whole gun thing, so I thought a gun for the boat would suit us all... to help out in those tight spots, you know?" Dutch just shakes his head with a smile on his face.

-0-

Lagoon Company was the equivalent of a band of reliable handymen in the cut throat environment of Roanapur.

Was.

Now, months later, it was the equivalent of the figurative Bogeyman.

Cross the Triad mate, and Lagoon come calling...

Screw with Hotel Moscow? And get the Company on my doorstep? Fuck that.

Fuck those trumped up pussy thugs... businessmen are fucking whack. Calm as fuck, bro. Then they set your world on fucking fire man...

And the men and woman that made up this ethereal, somewhat feared organisation where currently screaming blue murder at each other.

"YOU WANNA FUCKING DIE, BENNY?"

"Not really. He's coming around, by the way."

"Thanks for that, dipshit. I see that!" Revy presses the trigger and the snipe jerks in her hands. Rapid fire, she tries to hit the twin engined plane that was currently strafing the Black Lagoon fresh out of a boat-fight with souped up riverboats. There's a galaxy of bullet marks spanning the superstructure and hull, but only a few actual holes on certain angles of the hull. Rock is reloading the M4 with deft movements. Two rounds in each hand that lays them out then snaps them in place with a gentle placing and a twisting jerk.

"Get your whoring ass working, Partner!" Revy screams as she lets loose another mag of sniper fire. One clips a wing with a flash of sparks.

The plane wheels around and two machine guns under the nose of the plane begin chattering as Dutch swings the Lagoon hard to port. Rock hangs on with a hand on the ammo feed, and the other still clipping on more rounds. The last clicks home as a handful of metallic 'pangs' come from the rear of the boat.

The M4 swings around and Rock's tie flutters madly at the thirty knot speed.

"Dutch." Rock doesn't need to say much and the boat stops planing as the sights line up.

The tracers stitch their way across the sky, behind the plane, to underneath and finally, across the nose that does a good imitation of dissolving.

"Fuck yeah!" Revy cries, fist thrown up. Rock gives an exhausted smile and watches the plane still turn lazily...

Towards them.

'Shit.'

"Move, Dutch!" There's not much of the hostage businessman left in that voice and the boat veers right.

Rock tracks the plane and opens up, tearing the plane to pieces. It tries its best to stay on target but Rock has it dead in his sites and-

Click.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding."

"Fire, you fucking dumbass!" Revy looks over as sees the empty feed.

"Oh. Fuck"

They both watch the plane turn into their own desperate thrashing...

But the damage is enough and a wing shears the water apart close enough for Revy to see the bloody mess of the pilots face before they roar past and the plane sinks into the blue.

She turns to Rock, wide eyed and breathing hard. She smirks at his appearance, because despite the finesse with the Airacobra cannon, he's still a beginner at all this.

"We need a bigger fucking belt... or we need fifties." Rock looks at the massive gun and at Revy's handguns.

"Belts." They say in unison.

hr

Ever hopeful,

E.W.


End file.
